


Bird Day

by michaelandthegodsquad



Series: Drabbles and prompt fills [1]
Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Domestic, Drabble, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 13:39:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4608846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/michaelandthegodsquad/pseuds/michaelandthegodsquad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhys sometimes wonders about Jack’s issues with his own mortality, but he’s also not an idiot and so he’s never bothered to ask.</p><p>The challenge now, of course, is to do something for Jack’s birthday without Jack knowing it’s for his birthday. Right.</p><p>OR: a domestic drabble featuring bad puns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bird Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scootsaboot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scootsaboot/gifts).



> After Episode 4 crushed me, I turned to the squad for comfort and asked for feel-good prompts. This is not what I was asked for but it's what came out so welp, here you go.
> 
> Unbeta'd. If you notice any errors please let me know.

The thing is, Rhys isn’t even supposed to _know_ it’s Jack’s birthday. He really only found out by accident a few weeks ago, having found Jack’s wallet in his pants while doing a load of laundry. It’s actually pretty surprising, given his narcissism, that Jack doesn’t make a big deal about his birthday, throwing a lavish party or like. Building another statue of his face in his own honor or something. Rhys sometimes wonders about Jack’s issues with his own mortality, but he’s also not an idiot and so he’s never bothered to ask.

The challenge now, of course, is to do something for Jack’s birthday without Jack knowing it’s for his birthday. Right.

He has an idea the night before while sleepily waiting for Jack to get home, his head lolling against the back of the couch while _Chopped_ plays in the background. This basket has scallops in it, and Rhys vaguely thinks it looks pretty easy when he hears Jack’s keys clinking together outside the front door. Smiling, he stretches his limbs out and stands, flicking the TV off on his way into the front hall.

Jack is still setting his things down, toeing off his boots by the front door and setting down his messenger bag. He looks up at Rhys tiredly. “The hell are you still doing up?”

Rhys shrugs, shuffling sleepily over to Jack and nuzzling into the crook of his neck, flesh fingers hooking into Jack’s belt loops. “Just waitin’,” he mumbles, lips catching and dragging against Jack’s skin.

Jack hums at that. “You got work tomorrow, don’t you?” At Rhys’s nod, Jack chuckles. “Not the brightest, are you, kiddo?”

Rhys frowns in a way that he’s sure looks more like a pout, lifting his head to make a face at Jack, who rolls his eyes and leans in to press their lips together. Rhys’s eyes flutter shut and his arm comes up to rest on Jack’s shoulders, hand carding through thick, dark hair. Jack wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him in, pressing them together from chest to hip, and Rhys hums.

Somewhere in the back of his mind Rhys remembers that it’s way past midnight, and he grins against Jack’s lips, pulling away. “Hey, you,” he says tiredly. “Happy bir—” He stops himself quickly, remembering that he’s not supposed to know, and his eyes widen at the way Jack squints at him. “I, uh—“ Rhys stutters, struggling to finish his sentence. “Happy…bird?”

If anything, Jack only squints harder. “What?”

“Uh. Happy bird. I saw a uh. Happy bird today. Just a…real happy looking bird. Very…happy.” His voice is too high when he chuckles, and he moves his hand away from Jack’s hair to rub at the back of his own neck awkwardly.

Jack’s face falls and he looks about as impressed with the lie as Rhys feels. “Fascinating. You’re quite the ornithologist, pumpkin.” He backs away from Rhys, then, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it up on a hook by the door before walking away, and Rhys’s shoulders slump as he breathes out a sigh.

Not long after, when they’re both finally in bed, Jack rolls over and curls his body around Rhys’s, one hand coming up to slip beneath his t-shirt and rub idly at his stomach before settling there, wide palm splayed out against Rhys’s skin. Rhys smiles to himself and relaxes back against him, only vaguely hearing Jack mutter, “Thanks, cupcake,” against the back of his neck as he drifts off.


End file.
